


Reflections In The Mirror

by AlekWalker



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Cursed, Gen, Immortality, Implied Suicide/Murder, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlekWalker/pseuds/AlekWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a supposed witch hunt goes wrong Hansel finds himself cursed to live forever, to be drawn to Gretel's reincarnated soul in each of her lives only to lose her all over again. They'd thought themselves protected by their mother's spell, her protection ward however didn't extend to mischievous gods looking to cause trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalahadsGurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadsGurl/gifts).



> Many thanks to GalahadsGurl for cheering me on through this and beta reading, also to Ozhawk for the extra set of eyes perusing for mistakes.
> 
> This idea came about when a bunny latched onto my brain about an Immortal Clint Barton, after a discussion with GalahadsGurl this fic was born and wipped out in three days.
> 
> See end for further notes.

It had started off like any other hunt. They’d gathered information from village residents, had sent Edward off to scout the surrounding woods while Ben gathered supplies. Hansel had sat in the small room they’d been staying in formulating a semblance of a plan with Gretel using what information they’d had.

He’d been sitting on the bed with Gretel between his legs, calloused fingers idly combing through her long, dark hair when Ben and Edward had returned. He’d kept his hands busy braiding his sister’s hair just the way she liked it while Edward had relayed what he’d found during his excursion.

That had led them to this point, with Ben a lifeless heap in the corner of the dank, dreary cottage while Edward was caged beneath the floor. Hansel was currently hanging, restrained by heavy shackles about his wrists from the ceiling while the ebony haired witch they’d been hunting held his beloved sister against her with a wicked looking blade to her throat.

“Well, well I never expected to be graced by the presence of the Grand White Witch herself,” the witch drawled smoothly.

Nothing about this hunt had sat right in his gut, the rumors of the witch being a beautiful ebony haired goddess had cinched the knot of dread firmly in his gut. He knew now he should have tried harder to convince Gretel to walk away from this one, but she’d simply looked up at him with bemused brown eyes before continuing to clean her crossbow.

He could deny his beloved sister nothing, if she wanted to continue a hunt then they continued a hunt. It appeared now though that particular trait of his could spell the end of Gretel if the glint in the witches bright emerald eyes was anything to go by.

“If you hurt her, I swear to god I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth and make you beg to return to your master in hell,” Hansel spat vehemently.

That draw the witch's gaze to him, the blade easing away from Gretel’s throat. As the witch waved her hand Hansel felt his stomach twist as a green mist surrounded his sister, causing her to momentarily disappear before suddenly she was hanging directly in front of him suspended by harsh metal cuffs about her delicate wrists.

Hansel didn’t show any outwards sign of pain as the witch’s green fingernails dug sharply into his neck, her other hand curling beneath his chin to force his head round to meet her gaze as she murmured, “You have heart, I shall enjoy watching it break.  _ Forever.” _

Utterly lost by that comment Hansel had just been about to demand what the hell the witch meant when his thoughts were sidetracked by the sound fabric tearing, before his brain could register what was occurring he felt the sharp rake of nails along his bared chest.

The glint of candlelight off the blade was the only warning Hansel got to prepare for what was coming, steeling his will as his hands clenched about the chains he vowed for Gretel’s sake not to make a sound. Even if he wanted to scream in pain as the blade sliced into his chest, it wasn’t the usual pain he associated with an injury from a blade; there was something else something he couldn’t identify seeping into his skin through each slice.

He counted each sweep of the blade across his skin, six cuts each precise and fluid laid out in two sets of three if he wasn’t mistaken; though given his current position he couldn’t exactly look and see for certain.

Emerald eyes glinted with mirth as the witch then lifted the blade to tap against her lips as she crooned, “Oh yes, that will do marvellously.”

“What did you to my brother, you bitch!” Gretel spat venomously as she struggled against her bonds, her head whipping to try and see Hansel’s chest.

“Just a little curse my dear, one to make him suffer forever by losing the one thing he cares for most.  _ You! _ He will forever be drawn to your reborn soul, knowing full well that he could lose you at anytime,” the witch sneered, emerald eyes darting between the siblings with an eerie glow.

“I will cut your heart out and stamp it into the ground,” Gretel snarled, thrashing harder against her bonds ignoring the burn to her wrists as the metal dug into her skin.

Hansel stood stiff eyes wide in realisation of what the witch has in mind, his gaze darted to Gretel his voice lowering in warning as he snapped, “Gretel, stop.”

“I will not,” Gretel snapped at her brother in irritation before swinging her head back towards the witch who was stepping closer to her “This bitch killed Ben, imprisoned Edward and just cut and threatened you Hansel, I will not stand idly by and let her get away with this!”

All Hansel could do was stand by and helplessly watch as her sister lashed out both verbally and physically at the witch, her booted foot connecting with the witch’s chin causing her head to snap back momentarily. He knew then and there, that was the moment that determined Gretel’s fate. The rage in those emerald eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life and all he could do was howl in agony as he watched in horror.

It was as though everything slowed, Hansel’s heart pounding in his chest as he watched the knife that had not so long ago been slicing through his flesh sank to the hilt between Gretel’s ribs, puncturing her lungs and stealing her fight. Horrified, her brother slumped in his bonds as he watched the life slowly ebb from her eyes, already haunted by her last stuttered and garbled breath, the sound roaring over his own anguished cries.

He flinched as fingers traced over the raw cuts to his chest, the witch’s breath hot against his ear as she sneered, “Enjoy your immortality, Witch Hunter.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Clint sighed rubbing at his eyes wearily; he was _so_ exhausted. It wasn’t the kind of exhausted one felt from lack of sleep, no this was a bone deep, sick of _life_ exhausted. He’d walked this earth for the past two hundred and fifty years, forever drawn to his sister’s soul every time she was reincarnated; only to be forced to watch her die each and every time.

Over the years he’d gone through countless identities, shedding them every sixty years or so . . . or whenever someone started to notice he wasn’t aging. Twenty-six years ago he’d picked up the mantle of Clint Barton, had feigned being a world weary eighteen year old mercenary when SHIELD had come knocking at his door.

In his current life he’d taken a page from his beloved sister’s book and chosen a bow as his preferred weapon. Not that he still didn’t know how to use a wide variety of different guns, they just weren’t his first preference this go around.

He was sitting in one of the many briefing rooms littered around SHIELD waiting to hear what his next assignment was going to be. The ever familiar pull of his sister’s reborn soul had resurfaced again twenty-one years ago and he’d been pointedly ignoring it despite the sometimes almost debilitating pain in the scars on his chest, the runes still as stark and visible as the day they were carved. He knew from long, horrible experience that the timer counting down to her death never seemed to start until he’d made his reappearance into her current life once more. 

The quiet creak of the door opening pulled him from the darkness his thoughts had fallen into. He had always possessed the terrible habit of letting his memories swallow him whole on occasion. His eyes flicked to the familiar figure entering the room. Coulson had been the one to recruit him, to bring him before Fury that first time, and for that reason - among others - Clint trusted him.

“Coulson,” Clint grunted as he shifted restlessly in the unyielding chair, his eyes tracking the other man’s movements towards the table before dropping to the folder sliding across the tabletop towards him. His hand flashed out, slapping down on top of it just before it could slide past him and onto the floor. 

“Barton,” Coulson acknowledged as he slid into the seat across from Clint, his eyes flicking briefly to the folder beneath the other man’s hand before he continued “That folder contains your latest assignment, it has everything we know of your target and the last known image of them.”

Flipping the folder open Clint’s eyes quickly flicked across the solitary page of intel, it was painfully obvious SHIELD didn’t have a whole lot to go on in regards to his target. The corner of a photo peeked out from beneath the sheet and he instinctively reached for it, if he didn’t have solid intel on his target at least a decent image would help him to find them.

“Capture or Kill,” Clint asked quietly as his finger flicked at the corner of the photo.

“Kill,” Coulson responded almost instantly.

It was as his eyes were focused intently on the photo, studying and memorising every detail that his heart wrenched in his chest the pull flaring suddenly with an almost burning sensation. His stomach dropped with dread as it clicked that his target was the current reincarnation of Gretel. Clint knew then and there he wouldn’t be able to carry out this mission and in fact would do everything within his power to protect his sister.

Granted, he wasn’t going to tell Coulson that he wouldn’t be able to kill her. SHIELD would only send someone else to do it, thereby forcing him to kill the other agent so as to protect her. Fortunately, the agent had become very adept over the years in schooling his features, allowing him to look up Coulson and ask coolly, “Last known location?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it came down to it, Clint was honestly surprised when he managed to talk the infamous Black Widow into switching sides; she was easily as strong willed and combative as Gretel had ever been in any life. She had run as soon as she’d seen him, forcing him to chase her through one of the shadier parts of Russia. He still felt brotherly guilt for clipping her leg with an arrow to slow down her escape. Of course then the assassin had shot him in retaliation after Clint cornered her in an alley, putting a bullet clear through his right bicep. It had taken a moment for them to come to the same conclusion; he wasn’t letting her go and she wasn’t going to be able to outrun him for long. As a result, the two had gone over her options, weapons drawn on each other . . . just in case.

Currently, Coulson had the unenviable job of trying to explain to Fury why Clint had chosen to make a different call on this particular assignment  . . . not that he’d told Coulson the truth to begin with. Clint’s long life had taught him the importance of a quick, believable lie, allowing him to spin a yarn about the waste of potential assets and how he believed the so-called Black Widow would one day become a tremendous asset to SHIELD. And if the archer resolved to keep a close eye on his sister until after the final decision was made, that was no one else’s business but his. 

It was late but Clint remained seated outside the cell currently housing the Black Widow, calloused fingers tugging idly at the bandage around his bicep as blue-grey eyes watched the sleeping form of his sister. He knew the precise moment she woke, her breathing altering slightly as it always had even as she continued to feign unconsciousness.

“I know you’re awake Natalia,” he huffed fondly, rising from his chair with a groan; the damned things were in no way comfortable to sit on for any long period of time.

Crossing to the cell Clint propped himself against the bars, left hand raising to curl around one of the bars as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. One emerald eye cracked open before her head turned to face him, her red hair dirty and flat as she snapped “What are _you_ doing here? You have done your job . . . turned me . . . brought me in. I would have thought your bosses would have already sent you out after the next person on their hit list?”

Clint arched one brow as Natalia pushed herself into a seated position, crossing her legs and turning to face him at the bars, her emerald eyes glinting furiously. He didn’t need to be psychic to know she was upset. Frankly, he didn’t blame her; even though he should have, he honestly hadn’t expected SHIELD to throw her into a cell immediately after they were both patched up.

“I’m more than just their killer,” Clint growled without really meaning to, his right hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Refusing to let her bait him, he closed his eyes and proceeded to count backwards from ten in German. Once finished, he took another calming breath then lifted his head once again to meet her eyes. There was curiosity hidden in those verdant depths, prompting him to gentle his tone into his habitual affection even as he insisted, “Natalia, it’s hard to explain right now.”

His eyes flicked from her to the security camera in the corner and back. The slight cock of her head and the arching of one red brow in reply was the only indication he received that she understood his meaning. Turning his back to the camera completely, his hands began to move as he signed, _Do you know American Sign Language?_

When one spent a majority of two hundred and fifty years alone, finding a consistent pastime was important to prevent loneliness-induced insanity. Over the long, lonely years of his life he had chosen to keep up with his studies of various languages and methods of communication. Finally, though, it appeared as though his hard work was about to pay off, especially since Natalia gave a slight nod of silent agreement.

_ “This is going to sound utterly insane,” _ Clint signed while trying to figure out the simplest way to explain why he was hanging around like a stray cat.

_ “Try me,” _ Natasha’s delicate fingers moved effortlessly.

Throwing caution to the wind with a nonchalant shrug Clint rapidly signed “ _You’re my sister.”_

He watched silently as Natalia blinked slowly, her mouth curving into a confused frown and he knew she was trying to make sense of his words. Or possibly she was considering ways to kill him from inside her cell.

“ _You were right, that is insane. I have no family,”_ she signed with slightly shaky hands.

Clint winced, both from her response and the shaking of her hands. Then again his choice of words probably hadn’t been the best either, blowing out a heavy breath he tried again.

“ _Sorry? I should have been clearer. You are the current reincarnation of my long dead sister.”_

_ “You really are insane, aren’t you?” _ Natalia signed hastily while shaking her head.

“ _No . . . at least I don’t think so? Admittedly, it’s hard to keep track when you’ve lived alone for two hundred plus years, destined to be drawn to your dead sister forever. Only to watch her die over and over and over again . . . you know what, yeah I probably am just a little insane.”_ Clint admitted with a wry grin as Natalia’s lips twitched, whether in amusement or confusion he wasn’t entirely certain.

Watching as Natalia rose fluidly from her cross legged position Clint was reminded of a large predatory cat as she sidled towards the bars her fingers signing discreetly “ _You are very strange.”_

There was a look in her eye that Clint couldn’t help but read. His smile was soft and fond as he teased, “But you believe me . . . don’t you.” 

It wasn’t a question and both of them knew it. Even still, Natalia gifted him with a small smile and replied, “Yes . . . I believe you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is major character death at the end of this chapter, though it is not seen it is heavily implied their death is at the hands of another major character. Do not fear though the Story ends on a happy note in the next chapter.

It was startling to Clint how fast time seemed to fly, it seemed like just yesterday when he’d found his beloved sister again. This time though was _different_ they’d both fought tooth and nail to keep each other safe, for the first time since he was cursed his sister was once again a warrior.

After the battle of New York Natasha had had a few choice words for Loki, once they’d both realised he was the one responsible for their predicament. Well that wasn’t entirely accurate she’d had a few choice words punctuated by precisely placed blows designed to hurt without leaving behind evidence.

It had been as they were about to leave Loki’s temporary cell that they’d run into Thor, the god all but enraged once he realised what the pair had been up. Right up until they’d informed him of what Loki had done so many years ago. At which point, Thor vowed to consult with his mother on the issue following his return with Loki to Asgard.

When Thor had returned from Asgard, he pulled Clint aside while Natasha was otherwise occupied assisting Pepper. Clint protested, unwilling to hear what the god had to say without his sister there but Thor was adamant the conversation needed to stay between them for the moment. Clint could then tell his sister at a later time . . . a better time.

According to Frigga there was only one way the curse Loki had placed on him could be broken; his beloved sister would need to drive a blade through his heart. He had been cursed for her sake; for his, she would need to kill him . . . break the runes and destroy the hold they wielded over him. 

Clint had chosen _not_ to tell Natasha right away, knowing full well she would adamantly refuse to do anything of the kind. The dagger Thor had presented him with was to be used specifically to break the curse. Knowing better than to leave it out for Gretel to find, he kept it wrapped and hidden within the weapons case in his wardrobe. After all, some things were better left unsaid. 

Though now that he’d been told he was close to losing his sister once more Clint had left her bedside to return to his room, he went straight for the case to retrieve the dagger. He just hoped he could convince her to take his life before she passed from the world once more. He was tired of living without her . . . tired of the hunt to constantly find her, at least until fate took her from him once again.

The first sign he’d caught of Natasha getting sick he’d packed her up and moved her into his spare bedroom, he knew she liked to maintain her independence yet at the same time she hadn’t balked at his relocating her either.

It didn’t take him long to locate the wrapped dagger; he hadn’t given it much thought since putting it in the weapons case fifty years ago. Easing up off the floor he padded on bare feet back down the hall to the room his sister now resided in.

She was currently dozing and he honestly didn’t have the heart to wake her. Instead he settled down on the bed beside her, head resting by hers as his arm draped over her. Unconsciously he started to hum, a long forgotten tune that he hadn’t thought of in years, one that Gretel had loved to listen to him sing when she was feeling unwell.

Though now in her eighties, his adored and adoring sister was no less beautiful, her hair gone  silver where once it had been bright red. Those emerald eyes, however, still shined as brightly as they ever had, glowing with violence only occasionally tempered by pain.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you sing, brother,” Natasha drawled huskily, her voice still heavy with sleep as she blinked, tilting her head back and struggling to focus on his face.

“I will _always_ sing for you Sis, you only needed to ask,” Clint murmured against her hair, lips brushing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

With a soft sigh Natasha snuggled in as close as possible, her voice barely audible as she whispered, “I envy you. Forever young, forever handsome and virile, while I wither away before your eyes.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t wish immortality upon anyone, least of all you. After awhile, it’s gets lonely without anyone to share it with,” Clint murmured, eyes closing at the sincerity in her tone.

“I wouldn’t have minded being immortal with you. There is so much good we could have done together, brother,” Natasha replied, tone wistful as she laid her head back against his shoulder.

“Even immortals have their limits, Tasha. We did a lot of good together, both in your original life as Gretel and this life, I promise,” Clint drawled reassuringly, his hand stroking through her silver hair.

She hummed quietly, snuggling closer to his warmth. Lately she’d started feeling cold to the touch which was how he had known her time was ending. Her body was starting to slow, her demeanor lethargic and her muscles unable to retain her own body heat.

“Tasha? Remember the conversation we had so many years ago, about what Thor had learned with regards to breaking the curse?”

“Hmm?” Natasha hummed, eyes blinking open slowly as she tilted her head back to look up at him asking “You mean, the part where I have to kill you?”

Chuckling at her dry tone, he agreed, “Yes, that part. Well, I wasn’t entirely truthful . . . when Thor told me what he found out, he also gave me a dagger he claimed would be required to break the curse.” Shrugging, he reached for the wrapped blade once more, “I’ve kept it hidden, I knew you’d refuse if I asked you to end it before you were ready to let me go.” Hands shaking only a little, Clint set about carefully unwrapping the blade before lifting it to show her.

One of her hands lifted shakily, settling over his at the hilt. Her eyes moved over the blade, shrewd in their assessing sweep before turning back up to him as she whispered “You’re right . . . I would have refused you, if you’d asked before now. I couldn’t have given up our time together for anything, Hans.”

“Would you still refuse my request now? I do not wish to carry on this miserable routine any longer. I would rather face the end of my life, with you at my side, Sis. Same as it has always been, you and me against the world.”

The two siblings stared at each other for a long moment, before Natasha reached for the hilt of the blade and gripped it tightly. “As I cannot imagine life without you, I would not wish the same for you. I will not refuse you this, Hans . . . and where you go, I will follow.”

Wrapping his hand around hers, and careful not to touch the blade itself just in case, Clint positioned the point at his chest, careful to place the tip at the point where the blade would bisect the runes and destroy their hold, before looking up at her with a small smile. “Thank you.”

A sad smile curved her lips as she reached to cup his cheek with her free hand, vowing solemnly, “I’ll see you soon. 


	4. Chapter 4

Thor had been in another realm attending to Asgardian business when Jane had gone into labor. He had left Sif in Asgard as protector to his heavily pregnant wife and it had been Sif who’d come to retrieve him at Jane’s behest.

He’d all but rushed outside leaving Sif to briefly beg his pardon for the hasty departure. Of course, he’d paid for his rush when she caught up to him outside and soundly punched him in the shoulder.

Thankfully his steed was waiting outside the Bifrost chamber and he rushed past Heimdell, hearing the Guardian’s low rumble of bemused laughter as he rushed past, followed by Sif’s muttered, “What am I going to do with him?”

Pressing his steed to full gallop Thor crossed the Rainbow Bridge swiftly, making the trip to the palace in a fraction of the time it usually took. Granted he could have summoned Mjolnir and flown but in his current state of distraction it was entirely possible he would end up decapitating the statue of his grandfather . . . again.

His steed raced through the gates of the palace into the courtyard, and before he’d even came to a full stop, he was swinging out of the saddle and racing towards the nearest entrance. Long, hurried strides carried him swiftly through the palace towards his chambers, his step faltering one when he laid his hand on the door, caught offguard by the sudden wail from the other side of the oak.

Thor took a moment to catch his breath, and settle his nerves before easing the door open to slip into the dimly lit chamber. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the change in lighting, meaning it took a moment for him to recognize the presence of three healers in the room. One tended to his beloved Jane while the other two fussed near Jane’s desk in the far corner.

“Jane?” Thor inquired quietly, even as he edged towards the bed.

“Figures you’d get here after all the hard work is done,” Jane huffed tiredly, her head turning towards her husband, the exhausted smile gracing her face completely negating the words she was saying.

“My apologies, had I known you were this close I would have postponed the negotiations,” Thor offered as he settled his weight carefully on the bed so as not to jostle her.

“I wasn’t due yet . . . they came early,” Jane sighed, her teeth worrying her lower lip as amber eyes looked up to him, unshed tears shimmering at the edges.

“Don’t fret, my love. Asgard has the best healers in the Nine Realms . . . our child is in capable hands.” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, Thor stopped speaking in shock. He blinked for a moment, recounting the statement in his head, before looking down into Jane’s face and stammering, “Wait, _they_? We have more than one child?”

Jane started to laugh softly at first the sound morphing into louder, raucous giggles, as she held up two fingers to pause that thought while she fought to catch her breath. Meanwhile, his gaze flicked from his wife’s chuckling forming to the two healers by her desk and back again. It was clear by the look in his eyes . . . he was in awe of her and their, as yet unseen, children.

“You have blessed me thrice now, Jane,” Thor shifted to slip his arm around Jane’s shoulders, dipping his head to press a kiss to her brow. “Who’d have thought when you hit me with your vehicle twice on Midgard that this is where we would end up.”

“I’m never going to live that down….am I?” Jane huffed amusedly while snuggling into him, her eyes however were glued to the two healers by her desk with their children.

“Congratulations, your majesties. You have two healthy, strong beautiful children. A boy and a girl,” the healer closest to Jane announced softly as the other two approached, swaddled children in arm.

Thor watched in awe as the youngest of the healers placed one of the babies in Jane’s waiting arms, a throat clearing beside him had his head turning to meet the eyes of the aged healer who held his second child. He knew her well, she’d been a healer in his youth and had tended more than one injury he’d sustained in mishaps on the training field.

Her mouth curved into a loving smile, one he was sure his own mother would have blessed him with had she been here as she whispered “Your son, milord.”

“Thank you, Dagny,” Thor held his arms out for his infant son, allowing the older healer to fuss and adjust his arms so he was supporting the infant properly before turning his gaze back to Jane.

“So, I have an idea for our daughter’s name,” Jane started, her amber eyes lifting from the face of their daughter.

“Oh?” Thor arched one brow at that before his eyes drifted down to his son, the infant squirming restlessly in his large arms.

“I was thinking Brynja?” Jane said hesitantly as she peered up at him from behind her loose dark hair.

Adjusting slightly Thor leaned forward to get a better look at his daughter, her eyes were open but struggling to focus on anything too far from her tiny face. There was something eerily familiar in the depths of his infant daughter’s eyes though, which prompted him to turn his gaze down onto his son. The soul within those eyes was an old and familiar one, and Thor smiled in bemused joy to see it. There was a gentleness in his touch as he lifted one finger to stroke along his son’s cheek as he murmured gently, “It’s about time you returned to us, my friends.”

“Huh?” Jane asked ineloquently.

“It is of no importance,” he promised, before turning his attention back onto his daughter’s face. “Yes, I think Brynja is a perfect name for her, Jane. As for our son, I’m thinking Ívarr would be most fitting.” Thor replied, despite the suddenly confused expression Jane now wore as she blinked up at him owlishly.

“Even if I asked why, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” Jane queried resigned, used to Thor’s eccentricities  by now.

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating beneath his newborn son’s body as he pressed a fond kiss to Jane’s hair simply saying “You will see as they grow.”

Watching as Jane drifted into a light slumber, their daughter resting against her chest, Thor turned his attention once more to their son. Lifting the small boy up to his face, the god nuzzled the little boy’s nose as he whispered fondly, “Hello, Little Hawk. Well met, once again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The runes carved into Hansel's chest are Thurisaz (Meaning Danger, Suffering) and Ansuz (Meaning Prosperity, Vitality). The following link shows you what those two runes look like. http://norse-mythology.org/runes/the-meanings-of-the-runes/
> 
> There is purpose behind the Children's name choices. Their meanings come from 20000-names.com.
> 
> Brynja: Old Norse name derived from the word brynja, meaning "armor, coat of mail."  
> Ívarr: Old Norse name composed of the elements Iv- from ýr "yew-bow, yew-tree" and -arr from harjaR "army, warrior," hence "bow warrior."

**Author's Note:**

> The runes carved into Hansel's chest are Thurisaz (Meaning Danger, Suffering) and Ansuz (Meaning Prosperity, Vitality). The following link shows you what those two runes look like. http://norse-mythology.org/runes/the-meanings-of-the-runes/


End file.
